The lights didn't go out all at once.
They just stopped working, as if something was slowly eating through them.
In one moment Mina saw the drawer being opened behind her and the photo of her face frozen in fear.
Then quickly, the gray light blinked... came back... blinked again... and finally went out.
Mina exhales sharply and turns around, putting her hands in front of her. She almost slipped when her heel touched an old letter. The floor seemed really slippery as if it had been freshly mopped.
Or licked.
Something was moving in the dark.
Not footsteps.
Quite a slow, regular scratch, scratch, scratch.
Like with a pen.
Mina was so scared that she held her breath.
The writing sound remained there, waiting for the writer to decide that the power outage was no reason to stop.
Hello?
Mina barely whispered the word before she could stop. She had no idea what had happened to her voice.
At the same time, the air changed.
It was not colder.
It was just more cramped.
Almost as if the room had turned her into the centre of attention.
The scratching stopped for a moment.
Mina pressed her palms firmly against her mouth. What a fool!
There was silence all around. Suddenly she heard the shhnk of a drawer being slid half way open very slowly coming from between the cupboards.
Mina was so frightened that she could hardly move her feet as she moved one step back very cautiously.
Her shoulder touched the metal.
She half, turned and, going by the feel of the hard surface, guessed it was a cupboard at her back...
...the drawer was a little pulled out as if it was waiting for her.
She was scared to glance at it.
But she did.
There were pictures in the drawer.
Not laid, on top of each other as files.
Thrown like rubbish.
Some were curved. Some were ripped. Some looked like they had been drenched and dried at the corners.
Mina carefully picked one photo, trembling.
The picture showed a person standing near an elevator most probably.
The photo face was
Faceless.
It seemed more like the face had been used by the finger over and over until the paper surface had become thin and transparent.
There was an inscription underneath the picture in a very neat hand:
NO FULL NAME. TEMPORARY.
Something stopped Mina from breathing.
She hurled away the picture and stepped backwards.
Somewhere in the dark background a small noise was madequite possibly a throat clearing sound which was a polite one.
The presence.
Mina faced the desk. Even though she could no longer see the paper, faced clerk, she was able to sense its presence, just like when a person is sitting behind you in a quiet room.
The gray light was back for a little moment, just enough for Mina to get a glimpse of the desk, to see the paper clerk's silhouette, still seated, still angled toward her, to see the pen lifted in its ink, stained fingers and then, again, darkness.
The scratching came, this time, even faster. Mina went to where the sound came from and suddenly, she was running.
The cabinets were apparently stretched endlessly. The room was too big for it, definitely not a normal apartment building underground. So how come it was there?
Suddenly, a drawer loud and clear, opened in front of her, like a mouth. Mina did a quick turn, away motion and bumped into a cabinet. Something gently ran over her with a sleeve.
Paper.
Soft.
Cold.
Looking down, she saw the name tag sticking to her arm as if it had been damp with glue.
Blank.
Nothing written.
Just a strip of white paper.
Her stomach clenched.
She ripped it quickly, but the instant her fingers met the paper, the lights went on.
Full.
Gray.
The room revealed itself to her like an image coming out in a photo developing process.
And Mina realized she was not alone.
In between two rows of cabinets, a figure was standing still.
A manyoung, probably her age. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead as if he had been sweating. He was wearing a hoodie that was hanging loosely on his slim figure. His hands were up, palms forward, as if he was trying to show that he wasnt a threat.
But his face
Mina inhaled sharply.
It wasnt completely disappeared.
It was...blurred.
As if someone had rubbed his face with an eraser, not enough to totally remove his features but just enough to make the figure look incomplete.
However, the mans eyes were still very much visible. They were frightened and alert.
"Don't talk, " he said abruptly.
His voice was weak, like he had not spoken for a long time.
Mina nodded. Very hard.
The man looked behind her, towards the desk area. His eyes grew narrower.
"It heard you, " he whispered more than whispered. "It always hears."
Mina swallowed and did not say a word.
The man moved one step closer and then stopped as if any movement could be dangerous.
Slowly and cautiously, he reached into his pocket and took out something folded.
A tiny piece of paper.
He stretched it toward Mina.
A note.
The handwriting was little hurried, uneven, as if the writer had been trembling.
Mina grabbed it.
The note read:
RULE #1: DON'T SAY YOUR FULL NAME.
RULE #2: DON'T READ THE WALLS OUT LOUD.
RULE #3: DON'T ANSWER POLITE QUESTIONS.
RULE #4: IF THE LIGHTS FLICKER, STOP MOVING.
Mina looked at him sharply.
He was pointing to the bottom of the note one last line, darker ink, as if it had been rewritten several times:
RULE #5: IF YOU HEAR PAGES TURNING BEHIND YOU, DON'T TURN AROUND.
As Mina read that sentence, the scratching noise ceased.
The place went dead quiet.
Not normal quiet.
Listening quiet.
The man's eyes got big. He looked past Mina's shoulder.
Minas body became stiff.
She was going to turn.
She was utterly and completely against it.
But she didnt.
The gray light gave a slight flicker.
In that very instant, Mina caught a glimpse of a figure laying a shadow beside her on the floor.
A shadow of a tall figure.
Too close.
His lips trembled as he mouthed a few words, barely a breath:
He/ She is behind you.
The pages started to turn.
Quickly. With lots of excitement.
Mina felt the paper fand flutter past her ear, just as if it was paper on paper.
A voice polite, gentle uttered into the darkness:
Thanks for waiting, Mina
Mina was at a standstill.
It had been speaking to her by her first name.
She hadn't told it her first name.
The mans eyes were full of fear.
His hand suddenly shot out toward Minas wrist, as if trying to drag her away.
However, before Mina could do anything, the lights came on fully.
And the paper clerk was no longer sitting at the desk.
It was with them in the aisle.
Close enough that Mina could discern the perfect paper face of it.
Blank.
Only the ink looked fresh and still wet, it was writing the last words in a very neat script:
PLEASE CONFIRM YOUR LAST NAME.
The man made a strangled sound.
The paper clerk tilted its head, pen poised.
Waiting.
And Mina understood the real trap.
It didn't need your full name.
It only needed you to finish what it already started.
Mina's mouth went dry.
The gray light hummed.
The cabinets rattled like breathing lungs.
And somewhere deep inside the House, a drawer slid open—